The bucket list II
by Bmce
Summary: After their bathroom encounter they meet again. But things are different now. This is the second volume of The bucket list. You should read it first to understand what's happening.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

"You stole my book."

Miranda Priestly jumped as a quiet voice broke through the peaceful silence of the room. Snapping her head up she glared at the pale, tiny figure who seemingly appeared from thin air, right in the middle of her study. Andrea Sachs. For a brief second it crossed her mind that she should be surprised even shocked seeing the young woman in her home, but the thought passed quickly. Huge brown eyes that had haunted her in the past few weeks starred right back and the unexpected visitor raised an eyebrow, challenging her to deny the accusation.

"Nonsense." huffed Miranda "I most certainly did not steal your book, Andrea."

"If not stealing, then how would you describe the situation we have here?" Plopping down on the sofa in front of the desk, Andy motioned toward the bright pink journal in the editor's hand. "My book. In your possession."

Miranda shrugged nonchalantly. She carefully laid the book on the desk, dropped her glasses atop and leaned back, resting her head against the headrest of the chair.

"As I said before, I did not steal it. I merely made sure it did not end up with someone who wouldn't appreciate it."

"Besides," she added dryly, "you don't need it anymore. You're dead."

Miranda winced at her own harsh words and glanced at the girl offering an apological smile.

The young woman did not seem offended in the least and biting her lower lip, she studied the editor for a long moment, before nodding thoughtfully.

"Fair enough."

The loud bang of the front door woke Miranda abruptly from her light slumber. She suppressed a yawn and looked around a bit disoriented. She had couple of different color sticky notes stuck on her forearm and a very noticeable ink mark on her four thousand dollar, wort pencil skirt. Wonderful. She must have fallen asleep while editing the Book, curled up on the sofa. The door swung open and Cassidy, her younger daughter by two minutes, stormed into the study. She flopped down next to her mother and grinned sheepishly.

"Mom. We're back."

"Yes, Bobbsey. I can see that, not to mention hear it, quite possibly along with the whole neighborhood. Must you thump through the house like a herd of elephants every time you come home?"

"It was Caro. Not me."

"It was not. What's wrong Mom? Were you crying?" Miranda looked at her other daughter, who was standing at the door with a concerned frown on her freckled face. The editor tentatively raised her hand and touched her own face. The skin felt a bit puffy and there was a slight burning sensation in her eyes. Suddenly, the tragic events of the day came back to her mind with full force and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the new set of tears at bay.

"I got some bad news today, Bobbsey." She said smiling sadly. "But," she continued rising to her feet, "nothing for you two to worry about. Let's make some dinner. Shall we?"

She ushered the girls out of the study. Halting at the door she glanced back and sighed gravely when her eyes fell on the journal laying on the desk. The sparkling crystals of a thousand colors, were dancing under the light forming the name of the once vibrant owner of the book. Andy. The second time that day Miranda's soul died a little.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Guilty pleasures. A well-known rule is that everyone has one or two and Miranda was no exception to that rule. Not many, most likely no one, knew that every Saturday night she made a huge bowl of sundae and spent an hour or so soaking in the bathtub and eating the decadent dessert. After the previous day's emotional drainage she needed it more than ever, albeit she doubted that it would do much to improve her mood. The first spoonful tasted divine and she closed her eyes in satisfaction, savoring the rich coffee-maple flavor. She took another bite, slowly chewing on the caramelized pecan and sugar cookie crumble.

"Why did you kiss me?"

The now familiar voice startled her again. She bolted upright, dropping the spoon and splashing a huge amount of water over the rim.

"For god's sake." snapped Miranda, holding the ice cream bowl high up the air with one hand, the other awkwardly tapping for the spoon. "Must you sneak upon me every time? You almost drowned me."

She placed the bowl on the side of the tub and gracefully slide back, under the water. She glanced down, making sure, that she was fully covered with the luxurious bubble foam. While she was not ashamed of her body she was not in habit of showing it off. She had a great body, not only for her age but great, period. She worked hard to maintain her excellent shape and she was proud of it. Once a husband tried to hurt her feelings and he was fool enough to think that calling her frumpy would do the job. It did not. Miranda coolly asked if that was the case, why was he so keen to get into her panties. The next day she filed for divorce, and although it was not Saturday, she celebrated with a decadently sized sundae.

Andy lowered herself onto the edge of the tub, dangerously close to Miranda's precious ice cream and waved nonchalantly.

"Don't be so dramatic. Now, why did you kiss me?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? How can you not know? Or is it a thing of yours kissing people randomly, all over the place? I googled you. They don't write nice things about you, you know. According to the papers you change lovers as often as I change my underwear."

"Those rags give me too much credit. Don't believe that rubbish."

Miranda tried to keep her tone light, not wanting to show how those words stung. Most of the times she ignored the rumors circulating about her, knowing that almost none were true. Not this time. She desperately wanted this girl to think the best of her, to see who she really was.

"I can assure you it's not a "thing" of mine, kissing strangers wherever I go. At least not without a reason. In your case I had many. What I meant to say, was that I don't know which reason made me kiss you."

"Oh."

"You helped me, a complete stranger. You were kind and caring without expecting anything in exchange. And…" she added smugly, "You were pretty attractive despite your hideous scarf. See. Reasons."

Miranda watched Andy as the girl processed the words with a thoughtfully expression on her face. Finally the Andy nodded affirmatively.

"I like that. I feel better now thank you. After I learnt who you were I felt cheap, thinking you just played with me. I mean just a kiss… but still."

"Now that we've settled this, you have to promise, that you will never ever mention what you saw here to anyone."

"Dramatic much? I wasn't looking. Also, you're all covered with foam, so…"

Miranda rolled her eyes and lifted the bowl.

"I meant the ice cream. You can't tell anyone about it. It would ruin my reputation."

"I see. You are more worried about letting the word know that you are human and sometimes eat ice cream than being seen naked?"

"They seeing me eating ice cream, they'd think I am one of them. I would lose my untouchable, unapproachable status. They seeing me naked, and my Goddess standing is validated."

For a split second Andy couldn't decide if Miranda was serious or not. The playful smirk in the corner of the editor's mouth indicated that she shouldn't take too seriously what she'd just heard.

"I will keep your dreadful secret, oh mighty Goddess of all desserts…on one condition."

"Is that so?"

"Yep." She motioned toward the ice cream and reached for the spoon. "You have to share."

"Share? Never."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: Mention of main character's death. Quick reminder though, my stories always have a happy ending.**

 **Three**

"We are running around in circles here, Andrea. I've already told you – exactly five times in the last ten minutes - that I have no desire to participate in your little project."

"And I told you just as many times, that you have to."

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to. One of the perks of being me.

"Now you are just being a snob."

"I'll gladly take that if it means you stop bothering me with this absurdum."

"Miranda. You took the book and with that the responsibility of fulfilling those wishes and dreams."

"That's nonsense. I have my own "Book" to handle."

"What happened with the, and I'm quoting, _'Come and find me. I believe I can help with that list some more'_?"

"That was a very different situation."

"Different? How?"

"Just different. Now let it go."

"You can't just shut me down like this, Miranda. I deserve an explanation."

"I'm not going to explain myself, Andrea. One last time. Forget it. I am not going to do it."

"WHY?"

"Because…Because you were alive then, damn it. Now every time I look at that journal my heart breaks, it's a constant reminder of your death. I should have left it there."

"I should have left that bloody book there." Miranda murmured. "Or I shouldn't have gone there period."

Miranda was exhausted both physically and emotionally. Sleep didn't come easy last night and what little she maintained was restless. She heard the girls arguing on their way rumbling down the stairs. The faint noise of sirens down the street. The impatient horns of the cars held up by the garbage truck. Monday morning. She hated Mondays.

 **48 hours earlier**

"Emily. Coat. Bag."

Miranda's first assistant Emily exchanged glances with the second assistant, noting the bewildered expression on the young girl's face. The editor arrived at the office five minutes ago and according to her schedule was supposed to stay there until ten am. Emily checked the digital calendar and scanned through her notes, but could not detect any appointment or event that would have required Miranda to leave. Emily did not like the unpredictable. Sudden changes in Miranda's program made her anxious. When she was anxious she became extremely hungry, but she couldn't satisfy her hunger or she would compromise her main objective, staying size zero. Hunger increased anxiousness and it felt like being stuck in a loop. But it wasn't just all about that. It also bugged her, when she did not know what was going on with Miranda. Like now. Out of nowhere, cancelling her day. Wait. Cancel? Everything?

"Emily. If completing this simple task is beyond your depth, maybe you should start looking for another job."

Miranda breezed out of the door not wasting any more time on her useless assistant.

Some might argue but Miranda Priestly had the patience of a saint. Well not quite and definitely not in areas related to work, but still. When needed she was capable of waiting, not rushing things. She waited almost a month before she decided that enough was enough. She had to see that girl again. Their bathroom encounter that ended with a kiss – the sweetest one ever- affected her deeply, no matter how hard she was trying to hide, even deny it. Getting the girl's phone number and address was easy enough, she had both the following day. She was quite certain, that Andrea was going to contact her as soon as she figured out who Miranda was. Days came and went. Nothing. What was that girl thinking…making her wait? Was she playing some kind of game? Or maybe she was waiting for Miranda to affirm her interest? At the end of the second week she called the girl. It went right to voicemail. As did the second, third and the fourth attempts. Andrea never called back. Now on the one month mark Miranda was about to make either the worst or the best decision of her life. She was heading to Andrea's apartment. The newly renovated four story apartment building situated in a quiet, dead end street, not far from Miranda's town house. A huge U-Haul was blocking the road but luckily she found an empty spot, opposite the entrance. She hurried inside before she could change her mind. Entering the hall she was almost run over by two rugged looking men, who were dragging a massive Steinway baby grand piano. One of them lost balance and the piano hit the wall. The men did not seem to care about the damage they had caused and continued to manhandle the antique piece.

"Barbarians." thought Miranda. No doubt, the workers had no idea how much their cargo was worth. "So sad."

Miranda ignored the old lady standing at the elevator. She never engaged in conversation with strangers and she did not intend to start it now. The old lady had a different idea and tried again, clearly addressing Miranda.

"Poor girl."

"Excuse me?"

"The girl. From the loft on the top floor. She played the piano so beautifully."

Miranda didn't bother to answer, she pressed the button again, wishing the elevator would speed up. It arrived, the doors slid open, revealing boxes and a clothes rack, full of clothes.

"Wonderful." Miranda turned to take the stars, when something caught her attention. There was an uncovered basket, filled with shoes and on the top there it was. A bright pink journal, peppered with shiny crystals. Andrea's bucket list.

"Her friends are moving her out." The old lady said. "So sad. Everybody loved her here."

"Who?"

"The pianist. The one who died last month."


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

"Andrea, stop sulking. It doesn't suit you."

"I'm not sulking."

"Sure you are. You haven't said a word since you arrived."

"I just did, didn't I?"

"Stop being a smartass now."

"Stop doing this, stop being that. You stop being so bossy."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Andrea…"

"Now what?"

"You won. I'll do it."

"I knew you would."

"Cheeky girl."

"I already chose your first assignment. # 27."

"# 27? Let me see…That's the worst cliché ever Andrea."

"Maybe, but we're doing it anyway."

"We?"

"We, you… focus, Priestly. You only have five days to prepare."

Andy grabbed the editor's waist, pulled her close and planted a loud, wet smooch on her lips.

"Thank you, thank you."

Andy stepped back and jumped around the room singing.

"YAY. Valentine's Day. You'll love it."

Miranda shook her head at the girl's antics but embraced the warm fuzzy feeling that came with it. For the first time in ages she awoke with a smile on her face and a funny tingling sensation on her lips.

 **Nine**

According to many, Valentine's Day was the most romantic day of the year. According to Miranda Priestly it was just like any Monday. She hated it. As the editor-in-chief of a leading fashion magazine she sure understood the business concept behind it. Runway's Valentine's Day special edition had always been a huge success, one of their best sellers. For her that was all. Business. Nothing more, nothing less. She cringed when she came across those pathetic fools carrying oversized balloons, boxes of chocolate and stuffed animals. In the past, husbands and suitors tried to impress her with ridiculously expensive flowers, jewelry and diners. One went all the way and hired a string quartet. They all failed. The Ice Queen didn't budge. Things changed a little after the twins reached a certain age and they had their own expectations of a perfect romantic day. Strangely enough, it always required their mother's presence. While Miranda loved her daughters and cherished every second they spent together, she wished they would forget about Valentine's Day. They didn't. They loved it. Caroline once declared that it was better than their Birthday. Thus, they were over the moon when Miranda announced that they were going on a carriage ride in Central Park.

"Mom, this is awesome. We should do this every year."

"We'll see, Bobbsey." answered Miranda without conviction. They had only started the ride five minutes prior, and she had already decided that no repeat would follow. It had begun to snow right after they arrived at the park. Huge, fluffy snowflakes danced in the air. Romantic. Sure. She couldn't deny that it was beautiful, even romantic, although somewhat lacking. Something was missing. Something…

"Missed me?" a cheerful voice asked, close to her ears and she jumped in surprise. Andrea.

"I can't say I did." huffed Miranda but she couldn't hide the smile, forming in the corner of her mouth.

"Oh don't be a party pooper. Look at the girls, they enjoy every minute of this."

Miranda looked fondly at them chatting excitedly and the smile widened.

"Yes, they do. Perhaps you were right and it was a good idea."

"Miranda Priestly said I was right. Call the press."

"Hilarious." Miranda rolled her eyes - which happened a lot when she was with Andrea - and removed her gloves. "You're freezing. Put these on and" she lifted the blanket she was wrapped in "come closer."

Andy gratefully slid under the blanket, and snuggling close to Miranda, she nestled her head in the crock of the older woman's neck and sighed happily.

"You are toasty warm. Hot flushes again?" Andy asked cheekily.

"Whoever told you that you were funny, I should have a word with them." Miranda circled Andy's waist and pulled her even closer. It was heaven.

"You are warm." whispered Andy, rubbing her cold nose against Miranda's throat. "Warm, warm, warm."

"You already told me that. Now you are just repeating yourself."

"I'm not talking about your body temperature."

"You need a reality check, Andrea. Everybody knows that I am anything but warm. They don't call me The Ice Queen for nothing."

"They are all stupid then."

"Are they now?" Miranda smirked. This girl was unbelievably sweet. Naive, but sweet nonetheless.

"For them you are the harsh winter. They are fooled by your snow white hair, ice blue eyes and chilly demeanor. For me you are the soft snowflake, gleaming brightly under the streetlamp. The whimsical frostwork painting on my window in the morning after a freezing night. The ray of golden sun skating across the frozen lake. You are my gentle winter."

"Mom, Mom."

Miranda opened her eyes and blinked sleepily at the girls.

"Yes, Bobbseys?"

"We've arrived Mom." answered Cassidy. "You fell asleep and missed the best part of the ride."

Smiling at her firstborn, Miranda leaned forward and patted her knee.

"Don't worry, Bobbsey. I can assure you I didn't miss anything. Let's go, we have a reservation at your favorite restaurant."

Gracefully she extracted herself from the carriage and reached up to help the girls off.

"Mom?" asked Caroline taking her hand. "Where are your gloves?"

Miranda frowned, her eyes already searching the seats and the floor. No gloves.

"They must have dropped off somewhere, along the way."

When they got back to the car, she found the gloves on the back seat and there were heart shaped drawings on the frosty window.

 **Thirteen**

"You did not."

"I most certainly did."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I have panties that cover hardly anything. Not much difference really."

"But still."

"Fine. If you really want to know it was cold."

"Cold?"

"Must you repeat everything I say?"

"Come on, spill it"

"The rundown I had to attend was held in an old factory building."

"And what? I swear, you are the worst story teller, Priestly."

"And cold air was blowing up from under the chairs, continuously."

"Oh."

"Oh yes. I was sitting on a top of a giant vent. In February. It's a miracle that my pussy is not sneezing."

"I don't believe you just said that."

"I don't believe you talked me into doing that ridiculous list."

 **Thirty-Eight**

"# 101."

"That one is pathetic."

"Don't be a snob. Not everyone gets to travel. 11% of Americans have never traveled outside the state they were born in."

"All right. Tomorrow I leave for the Hamptons with the girls. I can do it there .And stop humming. Very distracting."

"I'm not humming."

"You are. You hum quite frequently nowadays. It's the same melody every time. It's very catchy."

"It's something I've been working on recently. I can't tell you more, but I promise to show you when it's done. I have to go now. See you at the Hamptons."

"You are not invited."

"Bah."

 **Thirty-Nine**

It was rather warm for mid-March, which made their sea shore walk more enjoyable, as Miranda had expected. After having lunch in a small family owned seafood restaurant, they spent most of the afternoon exploring the neighborhood. They had been there before, but it felt somewhat different, almost like a new adventure. She studied their surroundings through new glasses, thinking back to Andrea's words. 11% of Americans have never traveled outside the state they were born in. She knew she was lucky. Yes she worked hard and it paid off, but there were others who worked even harder yet got nowhere. # 101. Sitting on the shore and watching the sunset. A simple every day activity, taken for granted for some, a dream for many.

"Thank you for doing this."

"It's not a big deal, Andrea. I'm not doing anything out of my comfort zone."

"I know you care, grumpy."

"Why don't you just enjoy the sunset? Quietly."

"Spring."

"Pardon me?"

"The elegant snowdrop, hiding under the frozen soil, waiting for the perfect moment to rejuvenate. The balmy, fresh air during the day, then shall the evening come you realize the bite is still there. You are my spring Miranda."

"Mom? Are you dozing off again?"

"It appears so, Bobbsey. It's getting chilly, time to go back home."

 **Forty-Five**

"What's this?" Andy looked at the document Miranda stashed into her hand as soon as she arrived.

"Read it."

"Oh my God. This is amazing." She threw her arms around the editor and hugged her tight, whispering shakily in her ears. "You are amazing." Pulling back she looked at the paper again, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Now, now Darling. No need for any of that." Miranda wiped the drops away, except one sneaky little pearl which landed on the top of the form Andy was holding. It formed a wet, heart shaped spot right above the title: _**Anja's Cerulean Scarf Foundation**_.

"I contacted Anja's family. I was looking for a way to help them cope with their loss. The foundation's main purpose is to help to fulfill the dreams of children battling cancer. It will also help them deal with the financial struggles. Hospital bills, unpaid leave from work etc."

"Summer. The golden sunshine feeding the growing plants on the fields. The quiet, mid-summer shower watering the crops, making sure they live yet another day. The bright star at night guiding the traveler, giving hope to the lonely. You are my summer Miranda."

 **Forty-Nine**

"Andrea? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

"I…I'm not sure. I don't feel too well. I'm feel anxious and just don't want to be alone."

Miranda slid to the center of the bed, making space for Andy. Raising the cover she sighed. "Get in."

She didn't have to say it twice. Seconds later, she had a very warm but rather thin body on the top of her.

"This bed is big enough for two, Andrea. And I have pillows, you don't have to use me as one."

"I recognize sarcasm." murmured Andy "I'm not moving. Deal with it."

And Miranda did. She embraced Andy and held on to her all night long. When she awoke the next morning there was a note on the pillow next to her.

" _Autumn. Some call it Fall but with you it would never happen. You are my Autumn but you will never be my fall."_

 **Fifty**

They were in Miranda's study, sharing the couch. Miranda was working on the Book, while Andy was sitting next to her humming quietly. She had arrived a few minutes ago and hadn't say a word. It wasn't an unusual behavior, so Miranda just let her be.

"I'm finished." Andy announced sadly.

"Your melody? That's wonderful Andrea." She noticed the forlorn expression and she frowned.

"And you are sad about it because…?"

"Despite my promise, I can't play it to you."

"I am known as an objective critic, Andrea. I'll promise I won't judge your work harshly."

"I'm not afraid of that Miranda. There is something else. I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"My time has come. I'm sorry." She leaned forward and kissed Miranda.

"I don't understand." Miranda reached for her but Andy was already at the door.

"Miranda. You are my winter, spring, summer and autumn. You are my woman of every season. You are my love of every season."

She vanished into thin air and never came back.


	5. Chapter 5

"Miranda. We are going out tonight."

Miranda leaned back in her chair and shot her most intimidating glare at her long-time friend.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Nigel sat on the corner of the desk and boldly closed the Book, Miranda was working on. Ignoring the deadly expression on the editor's face he repeated calmly.

"You and I going out tonight."

"I have work to do. I'm not in the mood. I hate you. Choose one or all as my reason to decline your offer and leave me alone." She returned to the Book, hoping Nigel would take the obvious hint and disappear. But he didn't budge. After ten minutes Miranda had had enough.

"Are you going to sit there and keep staring at me?" she growled, without looking up. "I'm sure you can spend your Friday night more fruitfully than that."

"All right." answered Nigel "You asked for this. FIN."

Miranda snapped.

"No, no. You can't play the FIN card."

"Yes, I can and I will. It's not against the rules."

"It's not but…"

"No ifs ands or buts Miranda. One year. I've spent the last twelve months being your companion in your crazy journey. I didn't ask any questions. You told me to jump and I did. Literally. Not once but three times. Volcano bungee jumping in Chile. Base jump in Venezuela. Zip lining in Puerto Rico. Did I ask for an explanation? No. Also, I didn't ask about the Mexican wrestling, the robot fighting show, swimming with sharks in a cage. I sat with you in the Ellen Show's audience for hours. I made a snow angel. Naked. Did I ask why? I didn't. And you didn't have to play the Friend In Need card, because I would have done those things for you regardless."

Although he didn't raise his voice or sounded overly agitated, Miranda knew him well enough to understand his state of mind. He was upset. And he was right. He's been such a good friend, followed Miranda's lead obediently, without batting an eye. Yes, they had been going through the list. However he knew nothing about it. Nor anyone else. Doing the list was what kept Miranda sane these past months. The journal was her sanctuary, her last connection to Andrea. Dropping her glasses on the table she rubbed her forehead. Nigel deserved better. She considered going out with him as a small favor, hardly enough to repay her debt, it was a good start though.

"All right." She said "When and where? I'll give you the same courtesy and won't ask why."

She didn't have to ask. Nigel was more than eager to share.

"I met someone. And" he added quickly "it's not what you think. Or maybe it is. I don't know. I like him. I really do and not in the, I just want to get in to his boxers kind of way."

"Oh, that's new." She teased him "I'm happy for you Nigel."

"Yeah, there is one little issue though. I'm not sure he is interested. Hell, he might not even be gay. Also he is your greatest fan, so be prepared."

"Nigel." groaned Miranda. "Please tell me that this is not going to turn into another Gerard situation."

Nigel threw his arms into the air and cried out dramatically.

"One mistake. One little mistake and you never let me hear the end of it."

"I wouldn't call it little. It was quite impressive if I remember correctly. "

"Absolutely true. For a tiny person he was really well… developed. Such a waste." He sighed. "I promise you Miranda that Doug won't show up at your house wearing a kilt."

"It wasn't a kilt Nigel. It was a Versace skirt from the Closet and it wasn't his size, and that's putting it nicely. Poor Carina was in shock for days after his visit. I almost lost my housekeeper, thanks to precious Gerard."

Nigel had never been too lucky with men. Although his relationships were always short term and, almost all ended in disaster, he never gave up. He was looking for the happily ever after and five years ago it seemed that he had found it. Gerard was handsome, charming, sophisticated and apparently a cross dresser who only used Nigel to get close to his obsession Miranda Priestly.

"Doug is nothing like him. He appreciates your fashion icon status, however his admiration is based on your charity work."

"I don't follow you, Nigel. My "charity work" is not a public knowledge. How would he know about it?"

"He is an accountant at Anja's Cerulean Scarf Foundation."

Miranda inhaled sharply, her naturally pale skin turned even whiter. Coping with the foundation didn't provide the same comfort as the bucket list did. Quite the opposite. Albeit, she sent a donation regularly, she stayed away, never associating with it directly. Spending time with someone who worked for the foundation seemed like an impossible task to fulfill.

"Nigel. On a second thought…" Nigel didn't let her finish.

"I'll pick you up at seven." He slid off the desk and rushed out before Miranda could cancel their evening.

"Wonderful." murmured Miranda. She gathered the Book and called out for her first assistant. "Emily. Coat. Bag."

Nigel was ten minutes early, whilst Miranda was running late. She'd been never late before, so it was no wonder that Nigel eyed her warily, as she approached the car at half past seven. Miranda shocked him even more by muttering a half-hearted apology. Miranda Priestly never apologized. Ever.

"Everything all right?" he signaled the driver and the town car eased into the heavy evening traffic. Pulling up the privacy window, he asked again.

"Miranda? Is everything all right?"

Miranda nodded, forcing a smile. She had decided earlier, that it was time to talk to Nigel, about the bucket list, about Andrea and about how Miranda lost her heart to someone who might only have been an illusion. She clutched her bag, where Andrea's journal was hiding and hoped that her oldest and dearest friend wouldn't turn his back after hearing her crazy story.

"I believe we have a marvelous evening to look forward to, Miranda."

"Do we? You never revealed our destination."

"You'll be pleased, don't worry. Your favorite restaurant is hosting a private event. Very low key, no press, you can sit back and enjoy a quiet evening."

Nigel's words slowly reached her brain and generated an alarming realization. Her favorite restaurant. Where she first met Andrea. Where she hasn't visited since then. This was not going to work.

"Nigel, I don't think…" but it was too late. They had arrived and Nigel quickly got out of the car. She was led to the restaurant, and seated with Nigel grinning like an idiot when a young man approached them.

"Excuse me?"

"I said." repeated Nigel "This is Doug."

Doug was cute and Miranda concluded that Nigel was indeed an idiot if he thought the man wasn't interested. He obviously was, if his hungry, admiring look was any indication.

"Doug?" Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"Well it's Douglas." Answered Nigel, catching the meaning of the question.

"Ms. Priestly. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Douglas. Call me Miranda." Miranda leaned in and kissed his cheek. Doug almost fainted and joined Nigel in the, who can grin more idiotically contest.

"We are so honored, that you are here."

'We?"

"This," he motioned around "is my friend's special project. Tonight she is showing vignettes from her new record. All the money from the sales will go to Anja's Cerulean Scarf Foundation. We all know how the foundation was born, thus we are grateful for your presence. Excuse me now, duty calls."

He hurried to the temporary stage in the middle of the dining area and grabbed the microphone.

"Ladies and Gentleman. Dear friends. Tonight we remember. Remember those who fought but couldn't win. Remember our loved ones who we lost. Tonight we celebrate. Celebrate their courage. Celebrate their life. And celebrate those who survived and are still here with us." Doug paused and waited until the applause that followed his speech lulled.

"Tonight, our friend who herself fought her own battles and won not once but twice, will take us through an incredible journey with her music."

Nigel turned to Miranda and whispered behind his hand.

"His friend is a spectacular young woman. In the past one and half years she has been in coma twice. Somehow, no one really understands, she recovered miraculously."

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Andy Sachs."

Miranda's sharp cry was swallowed by the loud applause that greeted the young woman, stepping to the small podium. Miranda closed her eyes. No. This wasn't possible. Andrea was dead. DEAD. Opening her eyes she looked at the woman. There was no mistake. Her hair was longer, her skin complexion improved greatly, the ghostly white color was gone. She looked healthy. She looked alive. She was indeed alive.

"Thank you." Andy smiled sweetly and waved at the audience. "Thank you, Doug." Doug quickly hugged her and retreated. Andy sat at the piano and pulled the attached mic closer.

"Don't worry guys. I'm not going to sing." There were some giggles and someone clapped. Andy laughed.

"Come on. You're not supposed to be that happy about it." She winked and her responsive listeners laughed again.

"All right guys. First of all, thank you for coming tonight. Anja's Cerulean Scarf Foundation is close to my heart. They work hard and make a great impact in our community. They need all the help they can get, and that's why the earnings from my new record, The Woman of Every Season, will go exclusively to them. Enjoy."

Frozen in place, Miranda couldn't take her eyes off Andy. The music was magical. Their first kiss. Their ride in the park. The sunset in the shore. Everything they went through together was there in those tunes. The melody of their story, every unspoken word. The love they never expressed. It was overwhelming. Painful. Devastating. Yet Miranda wished the moment would never pass.

Miranda felt the first unmistakable signs of the disaster that was coming. Out of nowhere her heartbeat sped up and a sudden chill run through her body. Hot flushes. Panic attack. Did it matter? Both started the same way and there was not much difference in what followed either. She stood swiftly, excused herself and hurried toward the bathroom. Behind her the music came to an end and there was clapping and cheering. Someone whistled. An appreciative audience, no doubt.

She dropped her bag and leaned against the marble sink. Despite her condition she didn't miss the irony of the situation. The same bathroom, the same misery. Closing her eyes she inhaled deeply. Suddenly, a cold, wet cloth was placed on her neck and someone gently squeezed her arm.

"Breathe slowly. You'll feel better soon."

Andrea, Miranda's eyes popped open and she spun around. The fast movement made her lose balance and she reached out to steady herself. Fragile fingers held on to her and she stilled, trying to gain back her stability.

"Hey. It's all right. Just breathe slowly." The young woman frowned. "Umm…. "She let out a nervous laugh "Have we done this before? I just had one of those weird sensations…you know, déjà vu?"

Not trusting her voice, Miranda shook her head in denial. She had to get out of there. Reaching behind, she took hold of her bag and shaking Andy's hand off she stepped forward. Andy moved at the same time, and they collided. It wasn't the Hallmark type meeting in the middle. It was more like a clumsy bumping into each other from a B movie comedy. Jumping backwards Andy stumbled and not so gracefully landed on her ass with a muffled thump. The bag slipped through Miranda's fingers and fell in Andy's lap, littering her with it contents.

"And again," muttered Andy, "have we done this before?" She lifted the bag and her eyes widened. She looked up at Miranda, then looked back to her lap. The pink journal. Her journal. Her life. Memories. Miranda.

"Oh my God." She whispered "How?"

Miranda sighed and flopped down, next to Andy.

"I don't know. You tell me."

Andy shook her head. She caressed the journal with trembling fingers.

"I remember you. I remember everything. But that's not possible."

"No, it's not. Yet here we are."

They were sitting there quietly, because sometimes you don't need words to express how you feel. Sometimes all you need is someone you can sit with. It could be a friend or a stranger you just met. Or a stranger who wasn't really a stranger and you loved her anyway.

There was a loud knock on the door and someone called out.

"Miranda? Andy? Is everything alright?"

"We have to go."

"Yes. We do." Yet neither moved.

"Where do we go from here?"

Miranda took the journal from Andy and opened it.

"How about we go on with your list? Starting with # 180?"

Andy glanced at the page and grinned.

"I'm game. Let's go."

Gathering their belongings they stood and holding hands they walked out of the bathroom. They were immediately stopped by Nigel and Doug who were waiting for them anxiously.

"Miranda?" asked Nigel. "What's happening?"

Miranda shoved the open journal at his chest and declared happily.

"#180. That's what happening."

Doug's eyes followed the giggling couple until they were out of the door, then poked Nigel, who just stood there with his mouth open.

"Let me see."

Nigel held up the journal.

 _ **# 180: Living Happily Ever After**_


End file.
